The Last Betrayal
by gwillem
Summary: Harry and Ginny are fighting. Hermione gets a cryptic warning from Draco, but no one suspects how far Ginny is willing to go to get 'her' man.
1. Chapter 1

"No! Absolutely not!", Harry yelled, trying to get through that thick head. His eyes were blazing with rage similar to the famous temper outbursts of when he'd been younger and frustrated. The redhead standing in front of him was equally fuming mad.

"What the hell is your problem, Harry?", Ginny shrieked. "We're together, and everyone knows we're going to be married! Why the hell can't I have access to your account? It's not like I have a job or anything! I'm sick of wearing second-hand clothes!" She was almost in tears, and her face was becoming redder by the minute.

Harry just glared at her. "I've been giving you money every week. I've never asked what you do with it, but it appears you aren't spending it on clothes. The money I've given you in the last six months is more than I've ever spent on myself in my entire life! Until you can tell me honestly what the hell is going on, you are absolutely not getting into my vault, and we are definitely not going to be married. Is that clear!" A frustrated scream was his only answer, and she disappeared with a flash of green flames through the floo.

That had been three weeks ago, and he was still as angry about the argument now as he'd been then. He'd immersed himself at work, as being new to the law department had involved way more reading than he'd ever been used to. This was turning into one of the biggest frustrations of a relationship he ever dreamt he could be in.

* * *

><p>She swept through the alley, head covered against the cold, thankful for the excuse to cover her easily distinguishable hair. Head down, her eyes swept back and forth checking that no one who knew her was in the immediate area. Seeing she was alone, she whirled and slipped down the dirty alley. From the shadows a pair of slate grey eyes topped by nearly white blond hair watched her impassively. Unseen, he drew his hood over his head, and discreetly followed the shorter woman.<p>

His talent for skulking was coming in handy as he slipped from shadow to shadow down Knockaturn Alley, curiousity etched on his haughty features. Finding a darkened alcove he cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself, and settled in to see exactly how long she was going to spend in Borgin's. Almost an hour later he was rewarded by a flurry of movement, and a flash of red hair before a hood was drawn over her pale features. Watching her slip back the way she came, he waited an extra half hour before slipping into the store, drawing his wand as he went. "This is going to be very interesting!", he thought, as he shut the door behind him, locking it with an imperturable charm.

Meeting the eyes of the shocked storekeeper, he let his features slip into a cruel mask. "We are going to have a talk, you and I!"

* * *

><p>Hermione was buried up to her eyebrows in paperwork, a wrinkled brow furrowing her normally serene features. After graduation she'd been offered a position with the Unspeakable's, where they counted on her skill and brilliant mind to tackle magical puzzles that counfounded many other more experienced witches and wizards. It also came with the chore of wading through reams of books, scraps of parchment, research papers, and just plain 'winging it' spells, hastily scribbled down in almost illegible handwriting. The two upsides of her job were the satisfaction of solving mysteries, and she was able to have lunch daily with her best friend of over nine years, Harry Potter. Running her hands through her tangled mop of hair, she glanced at the clock on the top of her bookshelf, squeaking in alarm as she realized she was running late for her lunch date.<p>

Dashing out of her office to head to the washroom, she literally ran into someone she rarely saw anymore. Bouncing back, she looked up into a pair of cold grey eyes topped by white blond hair.

"Granger!", he said, lip curling in distaste. Hermione was startled, as Draco had changed sides during the last battle, and had been on much more friendly terms with both her and Harry, so his sudden change in demeanor was disconcerting.

"Malfoy?", she answered, confused. He was surrounded by several of his compatriots of the undercover Auror squad he was part of. "You're not supposed to be down her, you know!", she informed him, haughtily. As always, she was still a stickler for rules and regulations, something Draco was counting on.

"Here's that book you requested from my library!", he snarled, shoving it into her chest. "Next time just ask, rather than filling out a search warrent!" Disdain etched on his features, with a swirl of his robes swept down the hall, followed by his co-workers in tow.

"What the hell...?", Hermione asked of no one in particular, book in question clutched to her chest. Puzzled, she looked around the now empty corridor. As it was lunchtime, most of her co-workers were now on their way to nearby pubs and restaurants, leaving the sparsley populated department virtually empty.

In the years since the last battle, she, Harry, and many other's had formed a sort of truce with the Malfoy's. Since his conversion that had aided the side of light during the fight, they'd decided to let bygones be bygones, choosing to take things at face value rather than assuming he was plotting to overthrow the world or it's government. His accosting her in the corridor outside her office though, that was decidedly out of the norm. Sensing something was amiss, she raced to the washroom, tidied her hair and changed into the more comfortable pant-suit she wore during work when in the muggle world. The book safely stored in her expanded handbag she rushed to the floo's in the atrium, and with a flash of green disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

As usual, Harry was waiting for her at the Leaky Cauldron, taking her hand as she stepped from the fireplace. Letting her gain her bearings, as floo travel caused momentary disorientation, he waited for her to steady herself before casting another handful of powder into the flames, taking them to Grimmauld Place, Harry's home since graduation. Giving her the customary chaste kiss on her lips, he was about to lead them outside to where they'd walk to a nearby bistro for their weekday lunch. Harry was startled when she grabbed his arm, stopping him.

"Harry!", she snapped, urgency in her voice. "We might have a problem!"

On the way to meet him Hermione's mind hadn't shut down, whirling through all potential possibilities, and the only conclusion she'd been able to come to was not good. Something big was going down! There was no other explanation for the shift in Draco's mannerisms. They'd never be the best of friends, but in recent years he'd always been friendly with both her and Harry. The logical explanation she'd come to was that he expected her to react suspiciously, and that was her only clue.

She drew Harry into the libary, and quickly ran him through what had just happened. His brow furrowed in concentration, he motioned for her to stay sitting, and disappeared into the back of the house. Clinking and banging noises indicated he was throwing together a lunch for them, so she turned her attention to the book handed her by Draco, now sitting on the small table in front of her.

The aged, cracked leather gave no indication of it's contents, but there seemed a malovelent darkness to the weighty book. Drawing her wand from it's wrist sheath, she began casting charms on the book, trying to determine whether it was cursed in any way. Satisfied after several attempts that there were no dangerous traps for anyone to open the book, she was just lifting the cover when Harry returned with a tray of food and drinks, placing it on the table beside the book. Absent mindedly they each grabbed one of the sandwiches, as Harry joined her on the loveseat, his thigh resting against hers. Ignoring the tingle at his touch, Hermione flipped the book open, discovering a note.

Picking the letter up, she heard an intake of breath beside her, and looked at Harry's face. He was somewhat ashen faced, as his eyes locked on the title page inside the cover. She followed his gaze, and sat back, shocked. "Blood Bindings and Rituals", was the title, and the drawing underneath indicated it wasn't for the faint-of-heart. A manacled and staked out naked figure appeared to be mounted by another, surrounded by runes, a pentagram, and a containment circle.

"What the...!", breathed Harry, turning his head, meeting her eyes. He finally noticed the parchment in her shaking hand, and plucked it from her fingers. Opening it, both their gazes turned to the somewhat familiar handwriting.

'My Dearest Hermione and Harry,' it started:

'This letter and book may come to be somewhat of a shock to you both, but trust me, the manner in which I gave it to Hermione was for a very good reason.

On a recent foray into Knockaturn Alley, I was surprised when I saw a small woman, with shockingly red hair, slip into a shop I am sure you are both familiar with. With no idea of what was transpiring, I put aside my primary mission and sought to find out what was going on. I had to wait over an hour before she emerged, and left, before I could begin investigating.

On interrogation the shopkeep informed me that the woman who had entered had been searching for a specific book, and this is a copy of the very one she purchased.

Harry, I have no idea what Ginny Weasley has intended for you, or how far you two have "gone" in your relationship, but her purchase of this book does not bode well for you. I believe that she is planning on a blood-binding marriage which would subjugate you entirely to her will. In essence, you would become a spineless slave, obedient to her every wish. I've marked the section on Marriage Bonding, and each ritual is darker than the last. I hope you and Hermione can find a counter to whatever she's planning, because the alternative means you could lose your very soul.

Your friend,

DM'

As they'd read, their sandwiches fell to the floor, forgotten. Hermione's hand had found Harry's, intertwining their fingers. In times of great stress they'd always found themselves drawn to the other, and end up holding each other in unspoken support and comfort. Over the years their friendship had deepend until the bond between the two went deeper than most marriages, a fact they both just accepted, even though it upset the other people in their lives. Ron would rant and rave, while Ginny threw tantrums that were borderline psychotic. Now, once again, it was the two of them against an unknown threat, and they'd need each other in a way neither had ever expected.

Harry leaned back into the arm of the loveseat, and Hermione drew her legs up, curling up against his warmth as a sudden chill of dread made her start to shiver. "Ha...ha...harry?", she questioned, voice shaking uncontrollably. He felt moisture begin to threaten his composure, and wrapped his arms around his best friend, the distress of the potential betrayal shaking him to his very core.

As Hermione had read the words, her love for Harry had leapt to the forefront of her emotions, with the fear that once again his life was in danger. She'd given in to the fact years ago that no one could ever supplant Harry in her heart. Not Ron, her parents, no one. He'd risked life and limb, given of himself unconditionally, and for all his sacrafices was now facing the ultimate betrayal of someone who'd claimed she'd loved him, and wanted to be his wife.

"What are we going to do, Hermione?", asked Harry, his voice gravelly with emotion. He held her protectively as he'd done so many times, his heart almost bursting as her tears always hurt him in a way he'd never really understood. In answer she burrowed closer into his embrace, her bushy hair tickling his nose. Under his head her tremors subsided slowly, as the thump-thump of his steady heartbeat calmed her, reassurring her he was safe and alive. His body heat and closeness stirred feelings she'd long surpressed, never knowing he'd had to do the same many times.

Her muffled voice came to him, her face buried against his now-damp shirt. "The same as we always have, I guess. Fight!", her hands curled, grasping his shirt collar in defiance. "Nothing is going to take you from me! Nothing, and no one!", she reaffirmed.

Ever since the last battle they'd been there for each other. Facing fans, the press, unwanted suitors and stalkers. Even their supposed future spouses. Ron and Ginny had had the sanctuary of the Burrow, but with the recent loss of their brother neither Harry nor Hermione had wanted to intrude on the family grief. Both being raised as essentially only children, they'd always felt like outsiders, and so had turned to each other for comfort and support. They'd spent six months at Grimmauld Place, taking out their frustrations and anger at the world on the house, literally blasting the crap out of many of the aged furnishings and disgusting decor. If any had been able to see past the re-cast concealment charms they'd have been alarmed at the blazing bonfire of rubbish and disgusting things they'd cleaned out of the old place. Each half-tanked, passing a bottle back and forth, they'd sat in conjured lounging chairs staring into the flames with tears often leaking from their eyes. As each day dawned they awoke, often curled around each other in the same bed, to face the next day.

Ron and Ginny had screamed and ranted at the pair of them, until being told in no uncertain terms if they didn't calm down they'd disappear, and would never be seen again. Eventually Ron had seen the value of their friendship, but it had cost him any trust he and Hermione had re-forged. Luckily, he'd been picked up as a keeper for Puddlemere, and was able to vent his frustrations on the game, rather than his long-time friends.

Ginny, on the other hand, had calmed down, and had grudgingly seemed to accept their relationship, though she'd often been caught mumbling under her breath. Now, they finally had an explanation that fit more with her actions. She'd never accepted that Hermione came first, and had obviously come up with some plan to get her own way.

As the two 'friends' calmed each other, the red-headed girl of Harry's life was confronting her next oldest brother.

* * *

><p>"Why did you give up, damn you?", she cursed, pacing back and forth in his flat. Ron, flummoxed as always by women, was unaware how dark his sisters mindset had been of late.<p>

He shrugged nonchalantly from where he reclined on his sofa, eyes following her movements. "Dunno", he answered, searching his mind for the words. "Seemed better to have my best mates back, then try to force a relationship that wasn't really working. Too much fighting! Nothing was ever going to separate them, you know that?", he ended, posing the question to the still pacing form of his sister.

Ron had always known his sister was obsessive, but this was getting a little out of hand. He sat forward on the sofa, intending to confront her, his stomach knotting at the thought. "Ginny...", he started, hesitantly.

As she whirled, wand in her hand, a demonic snarl on her face, Ronald Weasley had one final last confused look on his face before her spell hit him directly in the chest. "That, dear brother, is for betraying your family!", she spat, and sat down waiting for him to wake. He was crucial to her plans, and was the only one who could possibly help her get what she needed without raising suspicions. Any who knew her would have been shocked at the look of pure hatred plastered on her face as she waited for her stupid-ass brother to wake.

* * *

><p>"Do you think we should contact Draco?", asked Harry, turning another page in the book. The spells and rituals in the book weren't extremely numerous, but the exacting detail with which they were written were alarming. It seemed whoever had created them were looking for ways to completely subjugate another completely to their will.<p>

Hermione was shaking her head. "I don't think so. He went out on a limb here, and risked blowing his cover. Without knowing exactly what she's planning, we're going to have to sit and plan for every contingency. For instance", her finger pointed to a list she'd been making, "it seems that most of the spells require pieces of the target of the spell. Hair, saliva, and, ah urm...", she blushed, unable to say the word in front of Harry. As it came from only one place on a man, it was understandable for her to be blushing. She and Harry had been very close, virtually naked in each other's arms many times, but fear had kept desire under control.

Harry felt his own face reddening, and chuckled. "It would seem that I am not going to be able to be alone at any time. You have a problem with that?", he squeazed Hermione in an embrace. Nuzzling against his neck, she kissed him, lovingly.

"I don't see a single problem with that at all!" Since the revelation that Harry was being betrayed by a woman who'd supposedly loved him, Hermione had thrown caution to the wind and gave in to her feelings more and more. The last couple of days they'd barricaded themselves inside Grimmauld Place, shutting off the floo, and casting anti-apparition wards over the property and cul-de-sac. At this point they'd opted to trust no one but Draco, and since he'd risked his job and safety getting them the book and message, decided to rely on each other once again. It had started with them cuddling in front of the fireplace the first evening, after calling in to work they'd be taking indefinite leaves of absence. Their fame soothed any ruffled feathers.

Near the end of the night, both their eyes drooping with tiredness, Harry had looked at Hermione, his respect, admiration, and love for her evident in his face. Unsure of the feelings he was experiencing, he'd looked down at Hermione's upturned face, and realized what he'd been ignoring for years. As she'd turned her head, sensing he was watching her, she'd been surpised when he captured her lips with his. As their lips met, the surpressed feelings shot to the forefront and drowned out anything else they'd been fooling themselves with for years.

Hermione had moaned against his mouth, causing Harry to deepen the kiss. Moments later, breathless, he'd pulled back, searching her face for any sign of disapproval. Instead, he was rewarded with a small smile. "I've been waiting for years for you to do that!", she whispered. This time, she turned in his arms, bearing them both to the rug in front of the fireplace. Her hands intertwined at the back of his neck, while his arms encircled her small waist. They spent the next several hours kissing, exploring with hands and mouth each other's bodies. Finally the stress and exhaustion overtook them, and fell asleep in each other's arms on the floor, fireplace crackling almost silently, the light from the flames dancing over their entwined bodies.

The next morning Harry had awoken to see a pair of golden, honey-brown eyes studying him lovingly. Her head was resing on his chest, with his arm supporting her upper body, holding her tight against him, while she stroked his cheek gently. "I love you!", she whispered, a tear excaping her eye, trickling down her face.

"I love you too, Hermione!", he'd gently smiled, pulling her upwards for a kiss. "I am just wondering what the hell is wrong with me it takes a threat of enslavement for me to recognize what I've felt for you for years!" She'd chuckled in response, her tear-dampened lips gently capturing his.

"I personally think you're a bit mental!", she said, smiling. "But that's ok, 'cause I've been mental over you for years!"

Deciding to forego reading the book for a while, they gotten cleaned up, separating to different washrooms for a shower. Now was not the time to give in to their feelings, but soon, said their unspoken words, as they parted.

Over breakfast they'd conversed, slowly at first, confessing to each other when they'd felt that their friendship was more than what it appeared. As it turned out, it was near the same time for each. "Since fourth year!", Harry had exclaimed, wonderingly.

Sipping her coffee, she'd nodded. "When you faced that dragon I felt like I was dying inside. Each time it came close to you I nearly fainted!"

It had turned out as they talked that each had turned the Weasley's for comfort, as they'd suspected that the other had had no feelings for them that way. They'd each just wanted to belong to the wonderful world of magical Britain, and due to their own insecurities hadn't the courage to look elsewhere for love.

Now though, with their feelings disclosed, Hermione felt no misgivings as she nipped, licked and trailed kisses along Harry's neck. As her fingernails scraped a tantalizing path down his bare stomach, she revelled in the feeling of power as he shivered at her touch, his heartrate increasing its beat under her other hand. She was definitely getting used to this!

Harry growled, finally grasping her gently, forcing her lips away from him, and snorted at her feigned pout, like a child denied her favorite toy. "Woman!", he chastised, "You are driving me crazy!" He was rewarded with a throaty chuckle, and a lust filled look that made him gulp at the promise hidden the depth of her eyes.

"We have work to do, my love. Later!", he promised, leaning in to kiss her gently. With one last look of longing, Hermione sat back into his arms, resuming their study of the spells.

She was seated beside Harry on the loveseat again, as they neared the end of the book. The warmth of his bare chest was almost scalding against her side, as she tried to ignore her rising desire. Soon though, the puzzle that threatened Harry's life and freedom enabled her to concentrate on the problem.

Two hours later, the book finished, she had a completed list of precautions they'd have to be wary of. Silently they both stared at the paper, finally unsure of which direction to take. Hermione sighed, frustration evident in the tone. "We need something else Harry! There are just too many variables!" Only his hands rubbing her shoulders and upper back soothed her, and she groaned at how good they felt. If only they didn't have this damned problem she'd drag him into the nearest chapel and... She froze at the thought. Jumping to her feet, she rushed to the bookshelves, searching for a book she remembered stumbling across, ignoring Harry's puzzled look.

Realizing his brilliant 'girlfriend!', he smiled at the thought, was off on one of her brainstorms, he sat silently, watching in amazement. It wasn't just how much she knew that always astounded him, but the fact that she was able to keep things catalogued in her mind, able to sift through them at any time, recalling facts she might have read years before. During their enforced confinement in Grimmauld years before, Hermione had ensconced erself in the library, combing through volume after volume. Apparently there was something she had buried in that wonderful head of hers she believed might help them. All he had to do was sit and wait for her to come to him with a possible solution.

As he watched her move, he was amazed at how he felt, able to express his long-hidden feelings. Her long hair swayed, as she inched along the shelves, the light from the lamps causing the highlights to shimmer. Her long slim legs were hidden under tight jeans, trailing up to a small, very firm bum. Her breasts were hidden under one of Harry's old quidditch jerseys, all of which she had claimed before they'd left school that final time. He'd been amused and mystified at the time, as she'd come bustling in, rummaging through his trunk as he was stowing the last of his possessions. As he'd only had two practice and two game ones left, having claimed all his other one's as he'd outgrown them, he'd met her eyes as she stood, the shirts in her arms. She'd shot him a smirk, and sauntered out, leaving him wondering. Now, three years later, he finally knew. She'd just wanted to have something of his that he loved.

Before barricading themselves in the house she'd gone to grab a bunch of clothes from her flat, Crookshanks, and her advanced spellbooks. As she was telling her parents to take an impromptu vacation, he'd been stocking up on supplies for the house. Various foodstuffs, potion ingredients, and two dragon-hide vests that could be hidden under their clothes. Neither knew now what Ginny was willing to do, or how far she'd go to accomplish her goal. Being prepared was something they both were used to doing, and felt the precautions necessary.

"Aha!", brought Harry out of his reverie, as Hermione came over to him, a small book in her hands. "This might be the key!", she exclaimed, plopping herself onto his lap. Absentmindedly she turned her head, kissing his neck, before drawing his attention to the title. The book was no larger than Riddle's former diary, encased in dark red leather. The title, 'Sympathetic Magic' embossed on it's cover gave no hint of it's contents.

Before Harry could ask, she started explaining. "Remember when we were running, and we'd come here to grab whatever we could to help?" Sensing his nod, she continued. "Well", she said, placing her hand on the cover, "do you remember anything about physics?" She felt, rather than saw, his shrug.

"Not really. It was a few years before we got into that in muggle school."

"Okay, basically one of the fundamental laws is simply this. 'For every action, there is an equal, and opposite, reaction.' It basically means in _our_ world", she explained, her hand patting the book, "that if there is a spell that performs one thing..."

"There is another that can perform the opposite!", Harry finished, getting excited. "So if there is a dark magic to bind a soul against someone's will, there must be another equal to do the same, willingly! So what is it?", he asked, and was disheartened at her sigh.

"I don't know, Harry!", she lied. "But I think the key is in this. We just need to find a way to craft something. Spell creation to bind you...", she stopped, unwilling to continue. She suspected that Harry might not want to do what she was thinking, and didn't want to hurt him or drive him away from their newly developing relationship.

Behind her, Harry tensed, as he naturally followed her train of thought. His chest consticted in a sudden unexplained fear, before he began analyzing the implications. Binding. Two souls. Equal. As in...love? Marriage? "Hermione?", he asked, and she stiffened. He reached around her, grasping her face in his hand, forcing her to face him. Turning, she kept her eyes down, afraid of what she might see. Rejection from him would kill her, after the recent mutual acknowledgement of their feelings.

Harry forced her chin up. "Look at me, Hermione!", he demanded gently. Reluctantly, she did, and was taken aback by the warmth shining from his eyes. "Would you possibly have any idea who would be willing to bond themselves to me? Hmmm?" The twinkle in his eyes gave her the courage to slowly nod, a shy smile starting. She gave a startled 'eeep!', as he extricated himself from her, and kneeled on the floor, taking her hands in his.

"Hermione, I love you", he started, and he smiled as he felt her start to tremble. "Would you do me the honour of becoming my wife? In name, love, and with the gift of your very heart?" As he spoke, the tears he'd been holding back spilled over, running down his face as the emotions hit him. The only answer he got was to be buried under a mound of bushy hair, as she threw herself off the loveseat, wrapping her arms and legs around him, knocking them both over.

As he'd knelt Hermione literally felt her heart stop, as he spoke words she'd dreamt of for years. With a strangled cry, she lept on him, as her throat was too choked up to speak. The only answer she could give was with herself. As kisses went, Harry felt this was even wetter than the one he'd experienced with Cho, but with a much different emotional aspect. It was some time before Hermione lifted her lips off his and screamed "YES! YES! YES!", before her lips captured his again, tongues battling for dominance.

An hour later, panting, they lay on the floor, Hermione on his chest, and he swore to himself later that he felt her purring! They'd not yet given in to the temptation of physical pleasure, but there was no way either would last the week, if what each was feeling was any evidence.

* * *

><p>In an office near downtown London, the GM of Puddlemere was puzzled. His trainer and Captain of the team had both just sent in the news that Ronald Weasley had missed two practices. "It's not like him sir", they both explained. "We tried contacting his family, and there was a vague explanation of some trouble with his sister." After conferring with them for an hour, they resolved to let the matter slide for now. The lad was a good keeper. Not the best, but threw his heart into each game as if it were his last. His only concern was that the fans he drew with his fame of being one of the Golden Trio might decide to not buy tickets if word got out he was missing practices. At his orders the press were kicked out of the practices temporarily, under the guise of trying new tactics. Little did he know that Ron's participation in the Trio's exploits were greatly exaggereated, and if he didn't start performing his new master's wishes, he wouldn't ever be playing quidditch again.<p>

* * *

><p>"What do you mean you can't get in?", Ginny yelled. She glared at her Imperiused brother. His glazed eyes offered little by way of explanation. "Well, I guess the stupid git will get to serve one last purpose", she cursed to herself. Drawing her wand, she began to cast, glad she'd put a drain in the center of the room, as the blood began to flow.<p>

Panting, she gathered the pieces into a package, and sealed it. Eyeing the note she'd penned, satisfied, she summoned the owl and sent her last and final package to her former love. "You're mine now, you heartless bastard! You're mine!", she whispered to herself, her eyes gleaming with madness, watching the owl wing it's way off into the night.

* * *

><p>Harry and Hermione were now standing in front of their former Headmistress, as she stared at them, shock evident on her face.<p>

"Ginny Weasley?", she'd croaked, and slowly lowered herself into her chair.

Hermione, with Harry's hand in hers, explained every conclusion they'd come to. "We believe that somehow, when Riddle was possessing her, it corrupted her somehow. With years of jealously, and always wanting more, we can only conclude she's finally...", her finger made a swirling motion near her temple.

Minerva knew only too well how a witch or wizard could easily go dark. Over the years she'd had to hand over far too many student records to the Ministry, as proof of mindset or premeditation. It was often the determining factor between commitment or the lifelong imprisonment of Azkaban.

Steeling herself she looked to her two most beloved students, taking notice of their entwined hands. Her only expression was a small smile, and one raised eyebrow. "I take it you two have a plan?" At their nod, she beckoned for them to continue. As they spoke her smile widened, until she was all but beaming.

"Excellent! You two will never cease to amaze me! Now, what do you need from us?" She looked from one to the other, her love for her favorite students shining from her eyes.

* * *

><p>Ginny couldn't believe her eyes as she sat, reading the paper the next day. The wedding announcement was driving her blood pressure through the roof, and she had to rush, as all her plans were about to go down the tubes. With an enraged curse she threw the paper down, and hustled around her brother's flat, gathering her supplies. She'd waited too long, but no longer. She'd be Mrs. Harry Potter, even if she had to do it over his dying body!<p>

With one last glance around, a small 'pop' was the only sign she'd ever been there, if one didn't notice the magical containment unit by the wall, entombing her brother's final remains.

* * *

><p>"Everyone set?", asked Harry, breathless. They'd rushed through the marital arrangements, calling in favors. The disturbing box containing red hair and fingers had almost sickened them, but pushing their grief aside had bulled through. There were six concealed Auror's present, with one standing directly beside where he and Hermione would exchange vows, hidden under Harry's invisibility cloak. Only Moody with his magical eye would have been able to perceive anyone was there.<p>

As the hour neared, Hermione rushed to Harry's side, wand in hand. Once they began the ceremony it couldn't be interrupted, and it was crucial it was finished before Ginny arrived. They'd posted that the ceremony would take place an hour later than it was actually being performed, so both she and Harry would benefit from it's protection.

Though it was rushed due to the impending threat, none present could deny the love the two in front of them shared, wand's drawn, as they exchanged final vows. As the glow of the joined wands lit their faces, it began to spread, evidence of true love shared fully, binding hearts and souls for the remainder of their lives.

Exchanging the binding kiss, they broke apart, everyone scattering to their positions, expecting all hell to break loose within the hour.

Thirty minutes later they got their first sign. "She's here!", a voice whispered in Hermione's ear. Nodding shakily, she assumed her position, grasping her father's arm. As the strains of the wedding march began to play, interrupted by a scream.

"YOU BITCH!", snarled Ginny, as she began laying about with her wand, curses and hexes flying. Later, witnesses would attest you could see the madness in her eyes, spittle flying from her mouth as she literally was foaming in rage.

Fortunately, the trap had been well laid, and Auror's began popping into view. Sensing everything was going amiss, Ginny, frantic, began casting her last and final spell. Bending down, she quickly drew a pentagram with her wand, muttering words of the spell she'd learned by rote. As the spell grew in power, protection of the caster became apparent as the stunning spells shot at her rebounded. With a final mad scream, she threw the finally completed spell at Harry, attempting to draw her to him. Surprise lit her features as it hit him, and a warm glow suffused his body. With a power none present could have predicted, the beginning of the subjugation spell rebounded, smashing through the protective pentagram hitting Ginny fully in her chest, crushing it almost instantly.

Hermione, ignoring her former friend, ran into Harry's arms, as they both stood, stunned into disbelief, as the product of immaturity, jealousy, and rage lay on the ground. Surrounded by Aurors, all with wands drawn, only a few heard her last, dying, bloody words.

"She can't have him! He's mine...!", she choked out, blood bubbling from her lips.

An aged Auror woman stepped forward, disgust written over her features. "No, you stupid witch!", she snarled. "He's always been hers! It was their love and marriage bond that protected him!" With one last hurtful, confused look, Ginny Weasley died.

* * *

><p>One year later.<p>

Hermione waddled into the kitchen, her belly making every step awkward. Seeing her discomfort, Molly Weasley rushed forward, helping the younger woman to her seat.

The love and caring on her face was a marked difference from when she'd been informed of her youngest's mad plan after her death. She'd bawled for days, until the autopsy report showed that she'd indeed suffered some sort of brain damage from her possession by Riddle. It had taken several weeks before the Weasley clan had come to grips with her and Ron's death. The only closure they had was Ron had died while having fulfilled his childhood dream of becoming a professional quidditch player. Ginny, it seemed, would have had to have been confined for the remainder of her life in a secure cell in St. Mungo's, as she'd have never been able to function on her own. With weary hearts, the funerals were held, many of the details squashed for the sake of the family. Once more, two had died as a result of Riddle's insane quest for immortality.

Right now though, Harry and Hermione were waiting with bated breath, among lifelong friends for her first labour pains to start.

They'd disappeared immediately after the wedding, once Ginny's remains had been removed. With saddened hearts they'd travelled out of the country, and it wasn't until several nights later they'd finally consummated the marriage. Repeatedly.

As they both had come from single child families, they had agreed that until they were satisfied they had enough children Hermione would not use birth control. The result; less than three months after the wedding Hermione realized she was pregnant, and it suited her well. Each time she and Harry had made love, there was a discernable glow around them, as they both became the epitome of true love, surrounded by the physical reminder of their bond.


	2. Chapter 2

**This chapter is in response to Vegasman59's suggestion that I needed at least one more chapter. Here you go!**

**Enjoy!**

FOUR YEARS LATER

"Daddy!", screamed Lillian Jane Potter, rushing across the lawn to where her father had just apparrated in. Hermione put her book down, smiling, as the love of her life swept their little girl up in his arms, allowing her to rain kisses all over his face. Chuckling at her antics, he carried their precocious child back to her mother, depositing her amongst the toys she'd been playing with moments before. One final kiss on his daughter's cheek, and Harry leaned over to be met with one of his wife's sensual kisses that always seemed to run chills up and down his spine.

"How was your day, dear?", asked Hermione, putting her book on the side table by her chair.

Harry snorted, a combination of disgust and frustration evident in his tone. "Those bloody old farts are so damned stubborn! One minor change of wording in a law, and they act as if I'm attempting to change the very fabric of the universe. " His eyes met his wife's, smiling at her beautiful face. "The darned thing should have taken a total of fifteen minutes, tops, to be reviewed and passed. Instead, four hours later, plus two hours for lunch, and they decided to vote on it tomorrow! I've half a mind to tell the whole lot to sod off!"

Hermione laughed, smiling. Years ago Harry would have done just what he said, but being a loving husband, combined with fatherhood had changed him drastically. He now exhibited a patience that all of his friends and colleagues commented on. More than once Harry had stood by somewhat abashed, as people complimented her on what a changed man he was, compared to the temperamental youth of just a few years before. Harry himself looked back on his teenage years with embarrassment, recalling some of his more famous outbursts, one of which had left their Headmasters office a shambles. He still didn't understand why he never served a detention for that!

As one, they both looked to where their first-born was playing with her toys, poking her little broom, encouraging it to travel in circles around her. At each pass she patted it, encouraging it to go faster, clapping her little hands in glee. "Oh, she is going to be the death of me! I can just see it!", moaned Hermione, answered by her husband's chuckle. With love and admiration they watched their daughter.

Though Hermione had secretly been hoping for a boy, she'd been amazed at how happy Harry had been with they'd found out their first-born was a girl. "Every family needs a girl just like you were", he'd explained, "to keep the other's in line. Just like you did for me!" Tears had been running down her face at his explanation, which had earned him an extra special night he still remembered fondly.

Lilly, unaware of her parent's scrutiny, was now trying to get her toy to perform figure-eights. She'd been blessed with her mother's hair, yet had the same piercing green eyes as her father. As both her parents were quite slim, she was tinier than one would expect of a three and a half year old. However, much to her parents dismay she displayed traits of recklessness, thankfully curbed by intelligence and an extraordinarily organized mind for someone so young. On more than one occasion they'd stood there as she explained things to her father in an all too familiar lecturing tone. Harry, a bemused expression on his face, only had to look at his wife to see her snickering at him before the pair burst into laughter. This only served to aggravate Lilly, and she'd stomp her little foot and storm off. She'd then throw herself on her little chair, arms crossed, angry expression on her face trying to figure out what her parents found so funny.

After the birth of their daughter, Harry had rented out Grimmauld Place, as neither he nor Hermione wanted to raise their children in urban London. Both had felt the freedom enjoyed by the Weasley children, being able to play and enjoy the gift of their magical heritage while growing up would give their child the best of both worlds. They still took her to Diagon Alley regularly, usually followed by visits to art galleries, museums, and libraries in muggle London. Once she was a little older they felt it would be good to expose her to travelling, giving her the experiences Hermione had enjoyed while exploring places with her highly educated parents.

Hermione had cut back her hours, settling into a research/consultant role with the Unspeakable department. It was virtually unheard of, but both she and Harry had given the Ministry an ultimatum; either that or she'd leave for good. With her brains and their combined reputation there were no doors she couldn't open, and no venue she probably couldn't conquer. So, once a week, an intern would arrive with a satchel of classified documents, pick up her weeks work, and leave. Once a month she'd attend department meetings for updates or collaborations, if it was deemed necessary.

Harry had stuck with the law department. He'd turned out to have an eye for detecting loopholes, and/or conflicting problems with existing or proposed laws. As such, he'd gained a reputation for having the backbone to stand up to the Wizengamot, often telling them directly to their face they were a bunch of blind old fools. It had helped that many of the laws he was helping change actually bettered society, ensuring a more stable environment. Enlisting the help of Gringott's, he'd proven that the changes would encourage growth, and it had, the wizarding galleon now enjoying an all time high in it's worldwide exchange rate. A nice bonus for the Potter's was that once a month now, the goblins often sent gift-baskets containing rare and exotic treats and or items as a thank you for helping them make them even more money.

Those bonuses had allowed them to invest their money wisely, with the added benefit of the country home they now lived in, less than twenty miles from the Rookery, the Lovegood's home. It was a humble, two-storey, four bedroom country home on ten hectares, surrounded by trees, with a small stream running through the rear of the property. There was a small detached garage, housing their modified SUV.

As Harry and Hermione were both a little on the paranoid side, they'd warded the property heavily, adding in runic protection similar to that employed on the grounds of Hogwarts. It would take a full-scale assault similar to what occurred at the last battle at the castle to even broach their defences. Additionally, Harry had hired Arthur Weasley to show him how he'd modified the Ford Anglia, and had enhanced the vehicle magically. Rather than having it fly, it could now be fully-cloaked, with modified Disillusionment charms, and was bomb proof. It would take several hits from multiple RPG's to even throw the vehicle off course. The benefit of the magical enhancements meant there was no added weight, and so could still maintain factory speeds. It had taken Hermione's genius intellect to figure out how to buffer the sensitive electronics from the 'backlash' of magic that would normally short such things as microchips out.

The stability and security of their home gave them a perfect environment for raising a family, and it showed.

Hermione leaned back, easing herself into a more comfortable position. Her slim body gave evidence as her dress shifted, showing the telltale bulge of another child on the way. "You okay?", Harry asked, seeing her shifting uncomfortably.

She smiled reassuringly. He was such a devoted and loving husband, she thought to herself. "I'm fine. It's just the normal discomfort as my back is getting used to...", her hands gestured, indicating her stomach growth. "It throws off my balance quite badly, you know!"

Harry chuckled, meeting her loving eyes with his own. Being so slim, his wife grew forward during pregnancy, so that it seemed she was carrying a football under her clothing. It made her movements during the later stages of pregnancy clumsy, a fact which he had tried so hard not to laugh at on more than one occasion. His wife's skill with a wand had increased, as well as her knowledge, and he had no wish to be on the receiving end of her hexes. She'd have felt bad afterwards, but it still would have been painful.

Switching the topic to more mundane things, they chatted the remainder of the day away, watching their daughter play in the grass of the back yard. Harry's stomach growled, at which point Hermione announced it was time for dinner, and a shrieking Lilly ran over, grabbing her parent's hands as they made their way into the house.

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He awoke, head aching, confused. Opening his eyes slowly he tried to recollect what had happened. There had been a fight. Bellatrix. Suddenly it all came back to him. "Harry!", he screamed, jumping to his feet, wand at the ready, eyes searching. He was surrounded by a vast landscape of rolling green grass, interrupted here and there by protruding rocks and shrubs. There was nothing nearby to give any clue to his whereabouts. Alarmed even more, he turned in a slow circle, eyes scanning for friends and enemies. For all intents and purposes, it seemed he'd been deposited in a farmers field in Wales, yet nothing looked remotely familiar.

In the distance he thought he saw a small roof. Looking around he saw no other recourse, and resolutely started walking, all the while his mind racing in a combination of fear and determination.

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"Does he know?", asked a figure, watching the strides of the lanky, dark haired man.

"Yes. And also no", came a cryptic response. Someone snorted.

"Okay. It's us, so you can lay off the mumbo-jumbo!", another stated.

"How long do we have?", asked another.

"It will take as long as it takes." This from the 'leader', his long beard quivering in silent mirth. It seemed death allowed one to still maintain humour, much to his compatriots despair. Someone groaned.

Sensing frustration, he sighed. No one had ever really appreciated his humour, often being too vague for many to grasp. "Not long now. Perhaps an hour, maybe two", he offered. Several sighs of relief met his final words.

His blue eyes twinkling over the tops of his half-moon glasses , he looked around. "You all do understand that that everything here is...highly unusual?" Everyone nodded.

A red-haired younger woman looked at him, green-piercing eyes meeting his gaze. "If it is as you surmised, 'intent', then there is a precedent here none expected. There does remain a chance." The old man met her gaze unflinchingly.

"Indeed!" Turning to the shimmering bowl in front of them they saw the figure was now half way to his destination. "There does also remain the chance that his mind might not be able to grasp what is transpiring. That could be...catastrophic. For 'him'."

They all turned as one, and with bated breath saw he was now much closer.

"Soon, we will know!", he finished, his gaze now locked on the wand in the man's hand.

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Harry sat in his favourite chair, reading his daughter a bed-time story, or so she thought. "So", her face scrunched up in concentration. "Unka Sirius and your daddy, and Wormy all became ani...ani...?"

"Animagi", he finished. "Yes, so they could help Unka Remus. They all ran through the woods, to help him keep him happy, so he wouldn't hurt anyone", he added. Their bedtime stories were a little offbeat, but both he and Hermione had wanted their children to remember the people they'd loved so much. Well, not 'Wormy', as she called him.

The tale finished, he tucked Lilly into her bed and came downstairs, sagging into the chair, his heart heavy. It was hard to remember what he'd had for only a short time in his life, without being overcome by sadness. At his side Hermione unconsciously grasped his hand in hers, entwining their fingers. She hadn't looked up from her novel, but through the bond they shared she could easily feel his pain. Sighing, he gently squeezed her hand before disengaging and fetching them both a butterbeer. On the way back he picked up one of the few pictures he had of Sirius, gazing at the beloved man who'd been in his life for far too short a time.

The figure winked, and smiled, waving. As much as he loved the moving wizarding pictures, at times the lifelike movements were 'too real', leading one to momentarily forget that the person within was gone from your life.

"Do you ever wonder what is beyond the Veil?", he asked softly, seating himself beside his wife, handing her the drink.

"Far too often, Harry. Far too often!", she smiled, sadness on her features as she gazed at her love.

"I know it used to be used to end lives, but really, where did they go?" Many times they'd had these conversations, but for some reason his voice sounded...different. Hermione fixed her gaze on her husband, knowing too well what that faraway look in his eyes was. She'd always seen it just before he'd had some sort of epiphany, an answer to a question or puzzle.

His eyes met hers, and he continued. "The Veil was utilized for executions, but where did they go? Death claims souls, unless there are unresolved issues. Hence ghosts. But all those sentenced were also put through without their wands. He still had his." Harry stopped, reaching a crossroad in his thoughts. Slowly, pausing, as he collected his thoughts, "Has any magical object ever been created without a purpose?", he asked, eyes fixed on his wife's.

Hermione knew they'd had similar discussions to this many times, but that was the first time he'd ever posed her that question, and she wracked her mind for an answer. "Nooo", she answered, drawing the word out. "It is theoretically impossible to create without intent. Every spell must contain intent, or else fail in the casting. It's like trying to drive a nail without looking at the head of it." She demonstrated with a similar hand movement. "Just because you want the nail to be in the wood, joining the two pieces together, doesn't make it happen. It is the intent, followed by the action, that determines the hammer hitting the nail that makes it so." Right now she was thoroughly puzzled, especially as to why this question had never been asked before.

Sensing her husband might be onto something, she patted his hand comfortingly, trying to draw him away from such potentially depressing thoughts. "Leave it dear. It's almost the weekend. I'll call in and get some background material, and we can both look into it." She held up a hand, knowing how he still had the propensity to tear off on an objective, exhausting himself mentally and physically. "I know what you're thinking, so maybe Neville and Hanna can take Lilly for the day so we're not distracted?"

Realizing his wife was right, he agreed. He wasn't sure why he had this niggling feeling in the back of his mind, but he knew if they didn't at least look on their own he'd be plagued with sleepless nights and brooding thoughts, irritating the crap out of his pregnant wife. Those were dangerous waters!

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The former Marauder had stopped, examining the structure before him. It seemed innocuous enough, yet he had a feeling something was going on. Years of pulling pranks, escaping authority figures, Auror training, followed by years in prison had instilled in him a distrust of situations he couldn't fully understand.

No one from his past could ever accuse him of being an intellectual, rather more a womanizer and troublemaker, yet he'd the feeling something strange was in the works. His last memories were of falling through that strange archway, then nothing, until his eyes had opened shortly before. He was still wearing the clothes he'd worn to the Ministry, and still had his wand, and could still feel his magic pulsing at his fingertips, ready to leap at his call. That house had beckoned to him, yet he was reluctant to go any further. In his own mind he believed himself dead, but close examination of his own body while walking spoke otherwise.

His lungs seemed to work, and he could feel his heartbeat. There was no breeze, but was able to feel a warmth on his skin from...something. There was no discernable sun, yet it was light out and apparently early summer, judging by the grass his footsteps left marks in.

Puzzled, and anxious, he studied the house, searching for answers. None forthcoming, he shrugged, squared his shoulders and marched up to the door. Raising his hand, he knocked, listening to the echo as the sound travelled through the dwelling.

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"He's here!", the red-haired woman said in an excited whisper.

"I think it's time for you all to disappear", said the old man, raising a hand before their whispers could build. Expecting protests, he looked around, glad they all still respected his knowledge somewhat, even in these unusual circumstances. He smiled then, and with a gentle 'shooing' gesture they should make themselves scarce. As the final one disappeared around the corner a loud knock resounded throughout the house.

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Of all the people Sirius Black expected to see in his own personal hell or heaven, the last one he'd ever considered was the aged, long-bearded figure who threw open the door. His eyes widened, spell on his lips fading as he sputtered, "Albus?".

The aged wizard smiled, stepping to the side and beckoning the younger man into the house. "Come, my old friend. Come. We have some things to discuss!" Sirius stood rooted to the spot, still staring at the old man, who frowned at his hesitation.

"Sirius?", he asked, the question loaded with numerous nuances.

"I, ah, urrrgh, are you dead?", came a choked reply. At which he only received a chuckle in reply.

"In a manner of speaking", he said in his usual round-about way, causing the first sign of life in the 'unexpected guest'.

"Yup. Definitely you!", snorted the lanky man, and strode into the house, finally regaining some composure.

Inside, he looked around curiously, as the house was very plain, with only basic furnishings in site. His stomach rumbled, and he realized he was hungry. He looked at the old wizard, hopefully, and was rewarded with another laugh. "Yes, yes. This way, and we'll see what we can do about your belly!" Leading the way, he travelled through a small hallway to a rather cozy kitchen, where a teapot simmered on a stove. The smell of fresh, baked bread assailed their noses, and a scent of roast beef made Sirius's mouth water. Striding past the figure who appeared to be none other than Albus Dumbledore, he spotted where the bread and beef were laid out on a platter, and laid in with a gusto. Albus just watched bemused, pulling forth a chair, seating himself while carefully arranging his ornate robes.

Several minutes later, his body's needs met, Sirius sat staring at the old man, trying to match him gaze for gaze. As always he had to give, as with one hundred and fifty years under his belt none could really match the Headmaster's stern look.

With eyes closed, Sirius sensed something large, and rather heavy, was destined to drop into his lap. Inside, he wasn't sure if he was up to it. Opening his eyes he scrubbed his hand across his rough face, suddenly tired. "What gives, old man?"

Albus met his eyes for a moment longer, before sighing himself. "Well, we're not exactly sure", he started, before being interrupted by the younger man.

"We?"

"Yes, we. Who, for now reamains unimportant. The questions you should presently be considering now are rather the why and how?" His eyes twinkling he met the former Marauder's look. "How much do you remember?", he asked, gently.

"I see", he said, after being told, nodding to himself. "And just when do you think this happened?" His eyes hardened, and for some reason Sirius knew that this answer was especially important.

He thought, carefully, before answering. "Maybe yesterday, perhaps as early as a few hours ago?"

Albus stared at him thoughtfully. "Would you be willing to believe that, by my reckoning, it was almost two years ago?"

Sirius felt his heart skip a beat, and stood, suddenly not able to sit any longer. Pacing the kitchen his panicked mind tried to formulate what the former Headmaster was telling him. Two years? Impossible, yet, was it? No one had ever really figured out what that damned arch had been constructed for, nor where it went. He searched his memory for what he could recollect from his Auror days. It had been proposed as multiple things, from a long distance travel device, to an execution device, to nothing more than a random mistake. He whirled, a question on his lips.

"Where am I?", he demanded.

Dumbledore smiled, tapping his finger on the side of his nose. "Now we're getting somewhere!", he chuckled. Getting up he beckoned Sirius to follow. He led them into a sitting room, motioning for the younger man to sit.

Satisfied that he was now beginning to think, he started.

"Are you aware of the Veil's origins?", he asked, and received a negative head shake. "Very well, then let me tell you what _I've_ deduced."

"Firstly, I must tell you four things, and you must not question me about them until I've finished, agreed?" Meeting the younger man's eyes, he received a slow nod. "Very well."

"There are mysterious things at work here, but I must inform you of these very, very important facts. One, I am no longer among the world of the living. Two, Tom Riddle has been defeated. Three, perhaps most importantly, is that your godson, Harry, is alive and well", he smiled at Sirius's sigh of relief. "Fourth, and most curious of all, is that I do not believe that you have passed into the world of spirit. You are, I believe, alive." He stopped, waiting to see if the conflicting facts stymied the younger man, or caused a mental breakdown of any sort.

"I, you...how?", came the articulate response. Sirius felt his mind was going to explode. He'd never been the brains of his group, in fact none of them really had been, with the exception of Jame's wife.

Seeing that this might take a while, the shade of Albus Dumbledore sat down, arranging his robes as he'd always had while living. It wasn't long before curiousity got the better of the younger man and he settled down. Feeling he now had his focused attention, he continued

"You see, years ago I became quite curious about the Veil, and disregarding the Ministry's, ah, assumptions, began some research of my own. You and I both have heard the theories, yet none had seemed willing to actually put them to test. All my research and writings led me to only one possible conclusion." He leaned forward, his focused gaze even causing Sirius to lean forward sensing something monumental about to be revealed. "The Veil was built around Arthurian times, judging by it's construct, and yet the etchings on it were quite unfamiliar. Rather than focusing on it's intent, I began studying those, which led me to it's possible architect. Merlin."

Sirius sat back in shock. To everyone's knowledge there were no surviving artifacts from that time, and certainly none by the first and perhaps greatest Wizard of all times. If it were true, it was the greatest discovery since, well, magic! His stunned look gave Dumbledore the motivation to continue.

"I came to the conclusion that Merlin developed the arch as a means for transportation, of _non-magical_ folk or items, yet for some reason there is no destination. Would you care to guess, perhaps, as to why that might be?" He couldn't help himself, and fell into his familiar role as teacher, encouraging Sirius to think for himself.

Running through all implications, he could only come up with one. "Too dangerous?", he asked, and was rewarded with a beaming smile.

"Again, I will give you an answer that seems to vex many. Yes, and also no. It was never meant to be moved, I believe, as it is far too bulky. I think it was meant to be semi-permanent, say, for food transportation from the coast? Fish, perhaps. Or building supplies. Perhaps a secure means to transport gold, from a mine. We can only surmise it's original intent. Yet one begs to question what happened to it's brother, for lack of a better term?"

Frustrated, Sirius sat back, fixing Dumbledore with a glare. "Be that as it may, it still doesn't explain...", his hand gestured between the two of them.

Dumbledore fixed him with a look that quieted the younger man. "I believe we are both somewhat in between. I'm in one room, and you are in another. Right now, we are both in the doorway. Is this making any sense?"

"Aaarrrrgh! You're giving me a headache!", groaned Sirius.

He was silenced by the old man's next words. "And that is why I think you are still alive!" It was so prophetic it did the one thing many had tried and failed to do. Get Sirius Black to shut up and think.

After several minutes he spoke in a more reasonable tone. "So, where did the food come from?", he asked, curious.

"Accidental magic. You were unconsciously hungry, and therefore, conjured it. I believe it was one of your favorite meals, was it not?", he was asked.

Stumped, Sirius sat back, dumbfounded, as Albus's former words rang in his memory. "How long?", he croaked, knowing he wouldn't like the answer.

"Too long, and I believe if we hadn't stumbled upon you, you would indeed have perished. You are, or have been, falling through a gateway, essentially frozen in time. Think of a rock falling. In air, quite quickly. In a viscious fluid, much more slowly. In spirit?", he shrugged. "I think the only reason you survived was actually thanks to your cousin. You were unconscious when you entered the gateway, thus your mind survived. The in between is somewhat _disconcerting_."

It was all becoming too much, and Sirius was beginning to doubt his sanity. Frustrated he ran his hands through his hair, the end result being a wild rats nest resembling when he'd first escaped prison. Silently he stood and paced, mumbling to himself. This went on for some time, yet all the while Albus watched, sensing the younger man needed to come to grips with the astounding possibilities. He was finally able to smile as the young man whirled to face him. "What can I do?", he demanded.

Chuckling, Albus Dumbledore answered, "Shouldn't you be asking what _CAN'T_ you do?"

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Harry and Hermione were sitting in their living room surrounded by boxes and boxes of papers, while the floor contained many more individual parchments. They'd been combing through the documents systematically, disregarding preposterous theories such as space travel, to contacting alien life. Hermione groaned at one point. "I had no idea there were as many crackpots in wizarding society as there were in the muggle world! Most of this is complete rubbish!"

Harry's hair was proof of his state of mind, sticking up wildly in all directions as it hadn't been since he'd last played quidditch. He had a hunch suddenly, and drew his wand. "Accio Dumbledore's papers!" In answer the lid flew off one box in the corner and a stream of paperwork flew at them like cards being sprayed from a deck at a gaming table.

"I knew it! That old coot had lived so long I figured at one point or another he'd have looked at that cursed thing!" Elated, they gathered up the papers and began sorting. Judging by the look they had over a thousand pages to go through, so Hermione got up to put a pot of tea on. Neville and Hanna were keeping Lilly till tomorrow, so they could stay up all night if they had to.

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Sirius stood facing Dumbledore, wand in his hand, a questioning look in his face. "Are you sure?", he asked nervously.

"I'm already dead, Sirius. I assure you I am merely trying to get you to believe in your own abilities!" He stood serenely as if he hadn't just asked the younger man to blast him with a bludgeoning hex.

"Alrighty then! Reducto!", he spoke, wand swishing in the precise movements. His eyes widened as the spell, built up with all his power, could be seen to displace air as it hurtled right at Dumbledore, and then swept right through him. "Huh!", he exclaimed.

At Dumbledore's prodding, he swept spell after spell at the old man, and all were at his maximum power, yet left the old man completely unharmed, other than making his beard move in the unseen wind. After some time he quit, panting, as he was beginning to tire.

Regaining his breath, he asked what had been puzzling him all along. "Okay, so I can do magic. But there's nothing here!", he shouted, exasperated.

Dumbledore smiled, infuriatingly. "Have you never wondered where your body went when you apparrated?", he asked, eyebrows raising as though surprised the younger man hadn't come to the same conclusion.

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Hermione had had a question rattling around in her brain for the last two hours, as her eyes skimmed the papers in front of her, searching for clues. She looked over at her husband, smiling at his furrowed brow, eyes restlessly searching as hers had been moments ago. He'd forgone wearing his contacts tonight, and she didn't mind one bit. She thought the classic titanium frames suited his face just nicely, giving him an intellectual look that stirred her inside. Pusing her hormonal response down, she returned to her thoughts. "Why? And why now?"

"Harry?"

"Ummm?", came his wordless response.

"Haaaaarrrrrryyyy? Earth to Harry?"

He looked up, a smirk on his face. Her bookish habits had worn off on him, and often found himself so engrossed she'd resorted to getting his attention that way many times. At least this time she wasn't naked, because that would have completely ruined any chances of research being done.

"Yes, my love?", he growled in a low voice that he knew drove her crazy.

Shivering, she promised herself he'd get his due later. "Why?", she asked, forcing him to think.

"What do you mean, why?"

"This, all this, now? Why are we just looking this up now?" She fixed him with a very serious gaze, trying to keep his thoughts out of the gutter. She loved it when they went there, but now wasn't the time.

He quickly followed her train of thought, and stood, beginning to pace. She'd noticed he did that often when thinking, and let his mind go where it wanted. Over the years he'd developed almost a sixth sense in being able to follow convoluted paths to an answer.

It wasn't too long before he stopped, and turned to her, a grimace on his features. "I think we need the Stone."

She shivered at his words, but seeing the resolution on his face, pushed herself to her feet. "Now?"

Holding out his hand to hers, he nodded. "Now!"

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He was surprised it had been so easy to recall where he'd dropped the stone, but as those events were indelibly etched into his memory it was a mistake he would not repeat. Hermione held his hand as he looked at the rock, still covered with dirt from where it had been pressed into the forest floor. He'd had to accio it several times before the power of the spell overcame the suction from where'd it'd been pounded into the ground, and here it was.

Swallowing loudly, he turned the stone over in his hands three times, and braced himself.

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Hermione had never seen Harry so white, even after Hagrid had appeared from the forest with his body cradled in his massive arms. Shakily he lowered himself into the loveseat in their living room, while she bustled into the kitchen to grab a glass of firewhisky. She was glad Harry had never been much of a drinker, but they always kept a small store for friends and guests when they stopped over. The information they'd just received almost made her regret that she couldn't have one with him. Returning, she placed it in his hands, and was relieved he had the presence of mind to just take a sip, rather than shooting the whole glass down.

"How? Alive?", he looked at her completely confused.

"They said it was kind of a corridor. No one looked, because no one thought of it, Harry!", she tried to console him. It was indeed shocking to learn that his godfather had been trapped in the same spot they apparrated through on a daily basis.

Taking a huge gulp of the whiskey, Hermione almost snorted as steam began to shoot from his ears. "That's what you get when you let a wizard run a distillery!", she thought, but was wise enought to say nothing. She'd kid him about it later. Right now they had a task to do.

Gathering himself, Harry fixed her eyes with his gaze, the familiar steely glint back in them. "Do you remember the instructions, exactly?" At her nod, he stood. "Okay! We've got some calls to do. There's absolutely no time to waste, if what we heard is correct!" Taking her hand, they headed to the floo. It was going to be a long night, and possibly even a longer day tomorrow."

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"Did you talk to him?", asked Dumbledore.

She sniffled. "Yes. It seems we did break through, though it took Hermione to realize what was happening."

"Brightest witch, indeed!", he smiled, and everyone around them chuckled.

They were each surrounding the sleeping form of Sirius, feeling for his plight. "How much longer can he last?", asked a man with dark, messy hair, concern in his voice.

"I think, just long enough!", smiled Albus Dumbledore, glad in his heart that one more could be saved. Of all the times he could have been wrong in his life, he had never been so happy that this one was one of his biggest mistakes ever. Believing a man dead, when he only really had, perhaps, taken a wrong turn!

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Neville Longbottom wasn't the brightest wizard around, yet after years of self-doubt he'd finally come to realize that it had only been that, _doubt_, that had ever really held him back. Now though, he was, if he admitted it to himself, more than a little befuddled.

"How exactly are we supposed to cast an anti-splinching spell, when no one's been splinched?", he asked, scratching his head. Hannah, his wife, smacked his hand. She liked his hair and hated it when he did that. The 'bed-head' look Harry pulled off did not look becoming on her husband.

"Doesn't matter", Hermione said, bustling around. They'd followed the instructions exactly, and were prepared as best they could. They had assembled in Godric's Hollow, one of the few places they knew were indelibly etched in Sirius's mind that he could use as an apparition point. Gathered were Professors Flitwick and McGonagall, Poppy, Kingsley, Luna, Molly, Arthur, George, Bill, Fleur, Neville, Hannah, and Neville. Present also were two Ministry workers who were well versed in reversing the effects of splinching, and how to cast the counter spell. They hadn't been told anything other than they expected someone was going to attempt to apparrate from a long distance, as his life was in danger. Everyone present knew what they were doing, just not why or for whom.

"Time?", Hermione called, anxious.

Harry checked his watch. "Three minutes and counting!" The expensive analog divers watch she'd bought him kept very accurate time, and the hands now pointed to ten fifty-seven. At eleven the church bell would begin to toll, signalling the beginning of the arrival. Or the end.

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"Are you sure this is even possible?", he asked. His hands belied his nervousness. He was rewarded with a smile and a nod.

"I believe many things are, including a seventeen year old boy beating the most powerful dark wizard in over a hundred years!", Dumbledore answered. "If it relieves you any, old friend, though I am here, I still retain all my memories. I had been a wizard for over one-hundred and forty years, and that", he smiled, "is a very long time, with a lot of things learned!"

Sirius Black nodded, relieved but still anxious. He began pacing, psyching himself up for one of the most dangerous things he'd never dreamt he would try.

It seemed like forever before he felt a hand on his shoulder, still him. He met those brilliant blue eyes, and gulped. "It's time for you to go home, Sirius. It's time for you to go home!"

Nodding, he moved to the spot he'd chosen, fixed his destination in his mind, and threw his entire being behind it. With a swirl, he was gone.

"Bon Voyage, my boy! May your heart help you find your way!", were the last whispered words in that strange world of in between.

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The bell began to toll, and Hermione felt the familiar surge of an unguarded apparition. "NOW!", she screamed. Thirteen simultaneously cast anti-splinching spells hit the point at the same time. For a moment they thought they'd failed, before with a strange squelching sound, a mangy, long-haired, tattooed figure crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

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THREE WEEKS LATER

He groaned, opening his eyes slowly. "Crap!", he swore. "This is seeming way too familiar!" His vision was swimming, and he felt a rather nasty aftertaste in his mouth. Smacking his lips, he mumbled. "Tastes worse than rotten Polyjuice, for Merlin's sake!" Just then he heard a voice he'd never thought to ever hear again.

"Padfoot! He's awake!" He struggled upwards from the bed he'd been laying on, bleary eyes looking around.

As his eyes came into focus, he saw a pair of brilliant green eyes, topped with a...a...bush? He squinted, staring at the little girl in front of him, as she stared unblinkingly at him.

"Are you Unka Padfoot?", she asked. Just then another pair of green eyes appeared over her shoulder, followed by a bushy head with warm brown eyes.

"God's! What's a guy gotta do to get a drink around here?", he asked no one, trying to keep the widening smile from his face. Tears were leaking from everyone's eyes, as they reunited with someone they'd thought lost forever.

Harry grabbed his godfather in hug, followed by Hermione. "Welcome home Sirius!" he whispered into the former convict's ear. "Welcome home!"

From somewhere underneath the arms holding him tight, a little girls voice loudly interrupted. "Are you gonna play with me now? I'm bored of watching you sleep, you know!"

THE END


End file.
